


antidote

by TheHiddenPassenger



Category: EDM, Pendulum/Knife Party
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHiddenPassenger/pseuds/TheHiddenPassenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rob gets nervous before shows--</p>
            </blockquote>





	antidote

We’ve done this a hundred times, maybe more. With Pendulum, there were like, five of us onstage. It kept the heat off, y’know? But now, there’s just two of us, and Rob—the guy’s such a perfectionist; he can’t help himself. He gets…well, he freaks out a little. I can see him, out of the corner of my eye, clutching a water bottle as a drowning man clutches anything that’ll keep his head above water.  
  
I won’t lie and say being onstage in front of ten thousand people doesn’t make my heart race just a little. The chance your equipment fucks up, or worse, that _you_ fuck up, is pretty damn high. In this business, it’s sometimes luck of the draw with both of those things. But he and I…well, we started out DJ’s and I feel like producing music as Knife Party is a great way to round out our careers. I dunno what’s going down after this; I guess it’s kinda up to him.  
  
The stage crew is moving things around for our set. We can see the crowd gathering already. There’re bee backpacks on sticks and even a well-made Knife Party logo floating around. Hell, if I squint, I swear I can see one chick in a Pendulum hoodie—the gold In Silico labyrinthine egg is pretty hard to miss. It gives me a chuckle and I offer the resulting mirth to Rob.  
  
He’s leaning against a speaker that’s not in use, one elbow on it, the bottle dangling from the most beautiful fingers I’ve ever seen. I realize how very fruity that sounds but if you’ve ever seen him use them, you wouldn’t argue. It makes mine tingle for the hard strings of my bass.  
  
The wind picks up a bit, which is a mercy as it’s a hot-ass June night in some backwater, midwestern town. The venue is in a strange place, but that hasn’t stifled its popularity. We’re expecting a crowd of thousands. I love the outdoor stages; they really allow us to let loose. I swallow hard, my heart in my throat, fighting thoughts of failure, equipment fucking up, missing a cue, that shit.

  
But I know that whatever I’m feeling, my partner feels it in spades. He’s always been that way, ever since—probably high school or college. I don’t recall which. And I’m always around, futzing with something, my rings, any given piercing, my hat—just trying to find the words to say that’ll calm him down. His eyes are narrowed out at the crowd, not judging or condescending but…counting?  
  
And I know what he’s thinking. Rob is counting each face he can, each person, each soul he could either uplift or destroy this evening. This thing, this music-making…for him, it’s a spiritual experience. It’s a gift, or many gifts, that he creates and bestows upon ravening fans.  
  
But ravening can also mean savage, sensitive.  
  
He’s only a few feet away from me. All I have to do is raise a hand and touch his shoulder. But will it help? With him, I never know. We’ve been friends for almost twenty years and I still don’t really know or understand what goes on inside his head. The setup crew continues their work, plugging in this, shoving that, removing these…whatever; my attention is on Rob.  
  
"Sst—" I hiss, edging closer. But with nothing else to say, I can’t give him a proper cheering up when he responds with his typical grunt.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
But I don’t really need to say anything as his eyes meet mine. I see the fear of failure in them. I see a passion for doing what he loves. I see relief that I am here, at his side. But really, where else would I be? I belong here. I’ve always been here and I think, barring catastrophe, I always will be.  
  
But is that good enough?  
  
And then I remember the girl in the Pendulum hoodie. I wrap my arm around his narrow, leather-clad shoulders and lean in, pressing my mouth to his ear. “Check it out,” my arm extends, pointing to where she’d been standing, just staring at the stage. She could barely be seen in the crowd, amongst so many half-dressed people with signs and sticks with shit atop them.  
  
But I know he can see her. As my gaze turns, I catch a slight motion out of the corner of my eye that tells me he can see her. The tension leaves his entire body and he sets the water bottle down. With his nerves abated, mine bugger off as well. I recede from his immediate presence, patting him on the back and looking out once more to our setup and our crowd.  
  
And they really are _our_ crowd.  
  
That feels good…to both of us.

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a ficlet prompt on tumblr. Cleaned it up and slapped it here--felt like I needed a justification for having Rob's hideous sniff face as my icon. Rated for language.


End file.
